


Stringendo

by MercurialNature



Series: Appassionato [1]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: First Time, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-20
Updated: 2013-05-20
Packaged: 2017-12-12 11:08:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/810893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MercurialNature/pseuds/MercurialNature
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He knew just how this would play out, planned and preordained to perfection in his skull a hundred times when taking himself in hand.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stringendo

**Author's Note:**

> First Hannibal fic (second fic ever) and first sexual fic. Comments desperately desired. This is pretty much my own little dirty fantasy, so brace yourselves for pure porn!

It was nothing like Hannibal had envisioned.

Smooth-stalking and predatory, he glided up to Will's back. Calm and confident were the hands he placed on his waist and slid up to unbutton his shirt, careful not to press firmly enough to feel the skin underneath the flannel, waiting patiently for that first touch to let Will's anticipation build. He wanted him _desperate._ He wanted him poised on the edge of too-far before allowing their flesh to come together. He knew just how this would play out, planned and preordained to perfection in his skull a hundred times when taking himself in hand. He deftly unfastened belt and fly, carefully pinching the waistband of briefs away from hips before pushing the lot down to Will's knees to fall onto the floor. He paused, eyes still focused on the back of Will's head and breathing easily as Will's head bowed and turned to one side, radiating expectation. Hannibal smiled a small half-smile as Will waited, then raised his head again and awkwardly stood on one foot to toe off his shoe and sock. Rebalanced, managed the second set with a slight head toss of impatience before kicking the puddle of clothing aside. Will stretched his neck back as if looking to the sky and released a shuddering breath; gathering enough presence of mind to extricate himself seemed to be the extent of his ability to focus. Hannibal's half-smile of cocksure certainty remained in place as he raised his hands to Will's collar, pulled it back from his nape and shoulders to fall and hang loosely from the cuffs.

Hannibal's smile and breath freeze in tandem as Will's bare skin is unveiled. _All of him_ _–_ is all he has time to formulate before his thoughts stutter to a halt while his eyes try to process what's before him. Skin; skin like a hundred skins he's seen in lust of one kind or another before, but... _Will._ He's standing so close that the shape of his body is foreshortened, difficult to get an overall concept of his form objectively, so for a moment Hannibal's gaze is fixated on the shadow beneath his left shoulder-blade curving across his lower back to the outside of his buttock. Hannibal lets his eyes fall smoothly shut and takes a deep, silent breath to regain his balance. The air that flows into him is full of Will's scent, warmer and deeper and infinitely stronger than that he's come to associate with his friend. He takes a careful step back before opening his eyes newborn into the world replete with Will.

Will stands still, vibrating waves of tension palpable across the air between them, shirt draped in an accidentally graceful curve between his wrists, arcing artfully beneath his backside. The fabric shivers minutely with Will's breathing, drawing Hannibal's focus downward. His eyes pass over the muscles in Will's thighs, down to the vulnerable nakedness of his feet indenting the carpet's pile, up again to his right forearm with shadows that move slightly as his middle and ring fingers unconsciously twitch. Hannibal clenches his fists as he determinedly attends to the dimple of Will's coccyx and steadily draws his eyes straight up each vertebra to the nape of Will's neck. He stares there, breathing in and out evenly as he tries to regain composure, but every breath and moment just further suffuses him with the aroma of the man he had wanted to conquer. His cock is excruciatingly erect. He opens his mouth slightly, slowly licks his lower lip and then deliberately inhales, sucking air across his tongue to fully experience Will's bouquet. As simple as that, Hannibal's intentions fall forgotten to the floor like dust.

Will curls his neck forward slightly, a movement so eloquent of uncertainty that it breaks Hannibal's reverie. He reaches his left hand out to touch Will's hanging shirt, tracing his fingertips across the weave for a moment before closing his fingers around the folds. As he turns his hand, he hears Will's breath hitch at the movement translated to his wrists. He wraps the back of the shirt rope-like around his fist, pulling Will's bound wrists back and together slightly, arching his arms back and showing more prominently the contours of his triceps and trapezii. He pauses to quickly skate his glance across the changed topography before raising his right hand and placing his palm against Will's nape, barely processing the warmth and sweat there as he presses forward. Will takes two stuttering steps until his thighs hit the lip of the desk; he pauses for a moment, then moans briefly and quietly as the continued steady pressure on his neck urges him to bend forward and lay his upper body across the desk.

Hannibal releases his grip as he sees Will's cheek press against the desk, stretches long fingers out as he watches Will jerkily spread his legs apart to fully rest his weight across the surface, sees Will grind his teeth together and turn his face downward in embarrassment at the increased exposure. Hannibal's lips work wordlessly as he randomly scans the expanse laid out before him, alighting upon freckles, ribs, a scar, the persuasive shadow below the sacrum. The skin begins to tremble and Will's breath grows more ragged as he perceptibly starts to come apart. Hannibal pulls down on the shirt gently to slide it over Will's hands, and as the shirt falls so does Hannibal, hitting his knees behind Will's open thighs.

 

~~~~~~~~

 

Will stretches his arms across the desk to curl his fingers over the edge, bracing and contracting his arm and shoulder muscles in a vain attempt to quiet the tremors escalating through his body. He doesn't know what's going on behind him, can't see or hear anything of Hannibal to guide his understanding, and all his tension and focus are drawing tightly together in the sensation of open air across his ass and balls. He's shaking with the unbearable knowledge of just how _visible_ he is, parts of him that no lover has ever viewed now displayed before Hannibal's gaze, and all alone in his own head with no way to touch – _if he would just touch me then I could FEEL him, I could KNOW -_

From behind him, a single vocalization, cut-off and involuntary, only a shade louder than an intake of breath: “Ah-”

Will's jaw clenches down tight at the tone of desperation as he presses his forehead into the desk, eyes screwed shut hard and seeing only stars. _He's with me,_ _he's_ _in it, oh god I can feel him, he needs_ _it like me_ _... he needs me... please please let this end, let him move, I need,_ _please he has to touch me or I'm going to -_ his fingernails must be gouging irreparable crescents now on the underside of Hannibal's exquisite desk as his breath hisses harshly from between his teeth, rubbing his brow bruisingly on the wood, sweat-slicked and warming from his skin – _can't he see I need him to move,_ _I'm dying,_ _can't can't take this please just,_ _just_ _touch me_ _-_

At the first gust of hot, wet breath across his scrotum, Will's eyes fall open blindly, his lungs inhale and stop, his silent pleading slams into a flatline whine inside his head and he's _gone._

~~~~~~~~

 

Before, when Hannibal fantasized about his... vanquishment of Will Graham, he beheld crisp, clear images of himself fucking into him calmly, features schooled in a placid mask of control, hands and teeth holding Will in place beneath him like a lion taking its mate. _Regal._ His intention: to imprint himself upon Will's mind and body everywhere he could touch, and thus to be understood by him. Will, a transcriber poised to fill the blank book of his own self with Hannibal Lecter, the Caesar of hunters. Never once did he imagine himself on his knees.

These thoughts are nowhere in Hannibal's mind as he leans forward into the space between Will's shuddering thighs and breathes in the concentrated, complex scents of him: the salt of dried and fresh sweat, the musk of his ass, the pungent spicy heat of his genitals, the undercurrent of soap beneath them all. He is momentarily overwhelmed by the intensity of the sensation, closes his eyes to better participate in the fullness of it, then pants out a harsh exhalation against Will's skin before reopening his eyes. Will's body goes rigid as a dog on point before him and he knows then that no one has been here before; no one has seen him and known him as Hannibal will. Intoxicated by the intimacy, and with no forethought, he sways forward to touch his nose and lips to the thin, loose skin of the back of Will's sack. The skin there is frail and lightly covered with crinkled hair that tickles Hannibal's lips as his balls shift and raise slightly in response to the stimulus. He presses his lips more firmly against him and breathes in, and again, gasping with the need to feel everything that is a part of Will. _Not enough._ Hannibal's conscious thought, long since short-circuited by the reality of Will's body, flickers awake long enough to recognize the astonishing position of supplication he has assumed, right before blanking into silence as the onrush of overpowering need fills him with a single purpose.

If in that moment Hannibal could extend himself to taste every part of Will simultaneously, to have a hundred mouths and tongues and palates to experience all his intricacies at once, he would not do it. He lays his tongue flat against Will's balls and slowly, minutely, follows the seam in his flesh up, up over the wrinkling silk pouch, over the tight blood-hot skin of his perineum, between the soft cheeks and over the clenching ring of his anus. His tongue strains to press every specialized taste bud into each new bit of skin, savoring the richness of this heretofore unknown dish. As the narrow tip of his tongue completes its passage over the tightly-closed hole, Will's body spasms violently as he cries out in a semblance of agony, overloading Hannibal's already inundated senses. Hannibal lifts his right arm up and over Will's hip, slapping his splayed hand onto the small of Will's back in a reflexive attempt at bracing them both, and presses his face alongside to catch his breath.

 

~~~~~~~~

 

At the sensation of soft, moist warmth followed by chilling air, Will convulses, shattering the quiet of the echoing, cavernous office with a tortured bray. His consciousness returns with the firm press of Hannibal's hand and face upon his back, hot harsh breath panting across his buttocks drawing him mentally closer to the heavy presence behind him.

Will swallows, moistens his dry lips, grits out, “Hannibal.”

Against his flesh, a murmur, gravelly and strained: “Will...” Then, the laser-focused sensation of tongue again lower, repeatedly licking over his tender skin. Teeth lightly raking along his ballsack, carefully pulling on the flesh to set his testicles gently swinging. Tongue higher, bathing the fragile stretched skin below his hole, hungrily consuming any residual flavors there. He feels a nudge at the internal root of his cock as Hannibal's tongue presses deeply into his perineum, and his shaft jerks and throbs painfully against the lip of the desk. Then slowly, so so _achingly_ slowly, a narrow moist path tracing the last few centimeters to his asshole, and Will feels utter certainly that any moment now he'll fly apart.

 _Oh jesus. Too much, too much!_ He's not going to survive this. Surely there's a cliff beyond which is obliteration; lost forever to the sensations he can't contain within his fragile shell. The muscles of his arms, back and legs tense and release repeatedly, toes digging into the carpet fibers, trying to find some purchase against the onslaught. He doesn't feel his grinding molars, white knuckles or the rivulets of sweat trickling down from his armpits and sides to slick the surface of the desk. All he can feel is the soft, wet, delicate tap-tapping against the place Will had no idea could harbor this intensity. Hannibal keeps changing his technique, experimentally raking the wide flat of his tongue and then lashing it rapidly over the striations, and Will doesn't know if it's to satisfy his own curiosity or to push Will further towards release. The edge of the desk grinds painfully against the top of his pubis, cock straining of its own accord to seek and not find tactile contact.

“Ah. Ah – ha – please... _please Hannibal, please, please -”_ he hisses, thoughtless begging for something, no idea what, just anything to keep himself together. The distant observer of his logical mind is shocked at the pleading tone but doesn't even register shame over the crippling need in Will. He feels more than hears the muffled groan against his skin as Hannibal's tongue pushes forcefully past his sphincter, thrusting and twisting a bare inch inside him. Hannibal's fingers clutch and dig into his buttocks, spreading them, mouth opening wider and tongue rooting deeper past the pulsating circle of muscles.

Will lifts his forehead a fraction of a centimeter off the desk and smacks it down again three times, frantically seeking a small dull ache to smooth over the knife edge of razoring sensations he cannot process. He clacks his teeth together, wishing for something to bite, to tear at so there is something else to feel, somewhere other than the nexus of straining delirium where Hannibal is now inside him.

“Ohhh... hnnn - no, no, I need, I need, ahhh nnnn -”

His voice becomes a fevered litany of want and ecstasy that crosses over into, yes, it's unendurable now, and in just one more second he's going to have to twist his hips away and push Hannibal back to escape it. His jaw paralyzes wide open with a keening cry and then he feels the nuclear heat of Hannibal's tongue withdraw, feels his dry hands rigid and flat against his flanks, feels his palms slide up his sides as he rises to his feet and finally, finally presses the long heat of his body fully against the curved clenching nudity of Will's. He's heavy, the weight of him receding Will's tremors even as the cold belt buckle jabs painfully into his tailbone and the steel bar of cock notches into his crack, chafing the textured weave of pants against his acutely sensitized skin. _That's good, good, I can breathe now._ He undulates, arching his spine up to push against Hannibal's chest, breathing deeply in the brief respite.

Hannibal's hands wrap around the sides of Will's chest, then pull as he stands them both upright, bodies pressed tightly together. Will looks down and gasps at the sight of tan hands roaming restlessly across his white chest and stomach, now cupping and squeezing his pectorals, now gripping the bony ridges of his pelvic girdle, now scratching the delicate groove between his groin and thigh. He turns inside the embrace, not looking at Hannibal's face yet - he can't, he'll be lost and helpless, and he knows everything he needs to from the sounds of rasping breathing. Hannibal's hands are loosely resting on his buttocks, so Will pushes back against his biceps to release himself so he can focus. He leans his forehead against Hannibal's sternum, pulling apart the placket of shirt below his mouth, managing a single button before licking at the circle of flesh. It's tantalizing, having only this bit of Hannibal to taste while his own body reverberates with recalled contact, and for a brief moment he allows himself the tease before dropping to the floor.

He quickly undoes the belt and fly, pushing underwear down and lifting out Hannibal's genitals. He looks at them dumbly, comparing them to his own familiar parts, feeling inadequately prepared to stimulate them as he wants to do. His gaze flicks up to Hannibal's face for a moment, taking in vague snapshots of open wet lips, half-closed eyes and hair falling forward before closing his eyes and attempting to reconcile the images with his conception of the doctor's refinement and control. Cognitive dissonance overrides this process, so he opens his eyes again and allows himself to be entranced by what is before him. Reddened flesh stretched tight, pulsing tracery of blood vessels, shining smooth purple glans, dark hair spreading out from the base; alien and intimidating. A twitch causes the cock to bob slightly and Will sees a clear droplet form at the tip. A wave of sympathetic lust burns down his spine to his own groin. He licks his lips and leans forward to touch the tip of his tongue to the pre-ejaculate, tastes it, and, trembling, probes the tiny opening. A soft “oh” from above him and Hannibal's hands are suddenly beneath his armpits, pulling him up and pushing him roughly onto his back on the desk.

 

~~~~~~~~

 

Hannibal quickly takes in Will's dazed expression, glassy eyes and wet mouth. _Beautiful._ With a single-minded determination, he grits his teeth and lifts Will's knees up to rest on his shoulders. He works his tongue and cheeks to collect his copious saliva and spits it into his hand, rubbing it perfunctorily over his cock. He presses two fingers between Will's lips; they part easily and Will licks and sucks at his fingertips. Before he can become absorbed with the feeling, he curls them to scoop under his tongue and rake the insides of his cheeks, withdrawing them dripping.

Hannibal presses his fingers to Will's asshole, pushing one tip inside less gently than he intends. A gasp of some mix of pain and pleasure emboldens him to delve the full length of his finger inside, then to work the second fingertip alongside. His movements are quick and efficient, almost mechanical, as he twists his fingers and pushes hard against each quarter of the circle in turn. Will's body jumps involuntarily with each press, his hands clutching at the air next to his hips.

“Please, now, please,” Will whispers, and Hannibal's cock lurches in response. He shoves his thumb into Will's hole and stretches it open with his thumb and forefinger, widening it as much as he can. He aligns the leaking tip of his penis between them and presses forward. Rocking his hips slowly, he works the glans in, mentally clamping down on his approaching orgasm. With infinitesimal slowness he progresses, each additional millimeter wringing a grunt from Will; once the head is inside he spits again into his hand and rubs the moisture around the drum-tight rim cinching his cock. With this fresh lubrication, his cock sinks smoothly and easily until he is fully wrapped in Will's heat.

He pauses, breath heaving in tandem with Will, balls pressed against his flesh. He turns his head to wetly kiss the inside of Will's knee, then slowly slides his cock almost all the way out and in again. He watches Will's face and body as he does so, the twist of his lips and the slick sweat highlighting his tense and shuddering muscles. Will spasms at one point and Hannibal stops, withdraws a tiny bit, and pushes again. He slowly drags the head of his cock over Will's prostate, causing another violent convulsion and plaintive, intoxicating cry.

The sound and movement prove too alluring to resist, so he mercilessly repeats the motion faster. Will shrieks, and any remaining restraint vanishes. Hannibal's cock thrusts a flurry of brutal jabs against the gland, and Will comes screaming, shooting semen over his chest and belly. The ejaculation subsides but the scream continues, and, ears singing with the familiar refrain, Hannibal pistons feverishly a few more times before emptying himself inside Will.

He folds forward, chest pressed against the backs of Will's thighs, shaking. His head hangs as he catches his breath, sweat dripping from his loose hair onto Will's body. The last few moments play back in his head: the strangled cries, the twisted grimace, the tears squeezing from behind Will's clenched lids, the feeling of rigid limbs relaxing into limpness after the crescendo.

“I could never have you just once,” he whispers, and Will's shining eyes telegraph that he understands the implication, if not its genesis. Hannibal's cock twitches weakly, still sheathed in Will, and he smiles, thinking already of the next time he can enjoy this exhilarating tableau.

**Author's Note:**

> Stringendo: with quickening of tempo (as to a climax); literally "tightening"


End file.
